Modern (B)romance
by eternitysky
Summary: People keep telling you: oh, you and Bokuto are such good friends. Ugh. Excuse you while you lose your mind.


40K words deep into writing an angsty Kuroken fic, I fall hard for Bokuroo.

It's mostly because of rhymewithrachel's tumblr. The art is amazing and hilarious and you can't help but fall in love with this pair.

I love opportunities to write in second person :D.

* * *

In your first year of high school, you get hit with a rouge volleyball with such force behind it that it knocks you out and gives you a concussion.

And that's how you meet Bokuto Koutarou,

It's the first joint practice you've ever attended, and the second and third years on your team kind of suck, and you can't wait for Kenma to graduate from junior high and come to Nekoma so you can start having fun with volleyball again.

And just like his impressively strong spike, Bokuto comes into your life like an uncontainable force, a whirlwind, and all you can do is ground yourself and get ready to meet it when it hits.

The thing is, you don't think you've ever met anyone you get along with as easily as you do with Bokuto, explosive personality and all. If anything, he brings out the crazy and reckless in you, the completely goofy, and it's so incredibly easy to have fun with him, to entirely let your guard down around him.

You become so, so close so, _so_ quickly.

Fast forward three years and you're running around Tokyo together picking up girls and smoking pot in abandoned parking lots and sneaking into bars to drink cheap beer and getting lost in forests in the middle of the night on camping trips, and… well…

 _You're such good friends_ , everyone always says. And you laugh and usually make some vague insult to Bokuto's sanity, or intelligence or say something ridiculous like _I'm a friend to all_ , or some other complete bullshit.

But, yes.

You are such good-

friends.

It's really too bad, then, that you can't stop thinking about how his hand brushes against your neck when he puts you in a headlock, or the feeling of his hipbones pressing against your torso when he jumps into your arms after a particularly successful set. Or even how his hair tickles your chin and the firm grip of his hands, all wide palms and calloused fingers, under your knees as he gives you piggybacks through the park.

The image of his legs in those stupid kneepads is definitely a frequent feature in your nocturnal fantasies.

"You really should just tell him, you know," Kenma says once, as the two of you are sprawled out on his bed doing homework.

Your head snaps up and you blink at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Kenma's eyebrows raise in disbelief and he snorts, only sparing you a fleeting glance before returning to his math problems. "Right."

You groan and bury your face into his shoulder. He just pats your head, treating you like the poor cat that you are, and says nothing more.

Kenma's right. Of course Kenma's right. Kenma's always right about everything. Really, Kenma could rule the earth and achieve world peace and economic prosperity for all if he only had such inclinations.

Too bad you're an idiot and you can't help it. You don't tell Bokuto. Instead, you become increasingly more touchy and flirty with him, your jokes become more and more sexual until you're yelling _nice ass_ to him across the court. He responds by swaying that (fantastic, amazing) ass back and forth and wiggling his eyebrows at you with a smirk. Your hands always linger a little longer than normal when you hug or shove him. On top of that, you find out that he's ticklish and take almost every opportunity to sneak up behind him and run your fingers down his sides until he yelps and howls and begs for mercy.

The worst part is that Bokuto reciprocates. Oh, how he reciprocates. He keeps biting your neck at the most random times and it takes everything in you not to moan and give in to the shudder of pleasure threatening to overtake your body. When he jumps up to hug you, he wraps those strong legs around your waist, almost knocking you down with the force and you try to concentrate on keeping both of you upright (because with six-feet-plus of solid muscle, Bokuto is not a light man) instead of how close his crotch is to yours, or how securely those thighs clamp around you (almost like they belong there), or how nice it feels to have his body pressed up so firmly against you.

And still, despite all that, people keep telling you _oh, you and Bokuto are such good friends_.

Ugh.

Excuse you while you lose your mind.

Third year of high school comes and goes and both of you graduate. While your parents are out of town, you throw an end of year bash for all of your friends and even some members of Karasuno come all the way from Miyagi to attend. At some point after the beer pong tournament but before Lev sets your mom's prized philodendron plant on fire, you and Bokuto find yourselves fucked out of your minds and sneak out of your own party to smoke a joint in the privacy of your bedroom.

Somewhere in the haze, between your fifth bottle of beer and your third drag on the blunt, you end up leaning so so _so_ close to blow in his ear in a way you know freaks him out, but you're greeted with his lips instead. And oh, god, oh, god, his lips are so soft against your perpetually chapped ones and you open your mouth to his probing tongue. You don't know when you closed your eyes, but you find them closed and you feel a little lightheaded as his tongue brushes against yours. Your fingers fist in his hair and you press his body close, as close as you can get sitting side by side.

And then he's straddling your lap and you're running your palms up and down those incredible thighs and squeezing that incredible ass and you're pretty sure you just moaned, loudly, and Bokuto takes this opportunity to push you down on the bed slip his hands underneath your shirt. He bites your neck in an oddly familiar gesture and then sucks. Hard. Another moan escapes your lips and you're so glad for the horribly loud music that fills the house because you're pretty sure the entire neighborhood would have heard that moan, otherwise.

Bokuto's hands travel further up until his thumbs brush against your nipples and he strokes up and down and in small circles. Your own hands are still kneading his ass and pressing his hips flush with your body. You can feel how hard he is against your pelvis and you push your hips upwards, eliciting a very loud moan from a very, very loud man. He grinds down in response, successfully taking his revenge as a moan escapes your mouth. Smirking, Bokuto uses this opportunity to catch your lips in another kiss.

Sex with Bokuto is as loud and messy and concussion-inducing as you expected and fantasized it would be (but seriously, though: he almost knocks you out when he rams your head against your headboard with the force of his thrust).

You both wake up the next morning nursing hangovers, completely naked, covered in bruises and hickeys. Your room is in complete disarray: beer bottles everywhere, all of your blankets and pillows scattered across the floor.

Your eyes meet across the bed and after one beat, two beats both of you start laughing uncontrollably. Bokuto rolls onto his back and rocks from side to side, knees drawing up to his chest with the force of his laugh. In between your own laughter, you take the opportunity to crawl between Boktuo's (amazing, incredible) thighs and place both hands to either side of him.

Both of you eventually stop laughing and look at each other.

"That was mad gay, dude," he says through his smile, eyes brimming with amusement.

"Yup," you say and then you lean down for a kiss that he eagerly accepts.

The thing is, afterwards, people still keep telling you _oh wow, you guys are such good friends_ even as you sit on Bokuto's lap or Bokuto's hand squeezes your ass, or you whisper hotly in Bokuto's ear, nibbling on his earlobe a little in the process.

In such times, all you can do is turn to each other, blink and smirk before turning back to the person in question.

"Oh yea, we're-"

" _Very_ good friends."

And then you make a point of making out gratuitously in front of whichever blind idiot keeps insisting that you're just _such_ good friends and gleefully listen to the sounds of their choked surprise.

* * *

The plight of Bokuuro shippers on tumblr, it seems, is that everyone dismisses the ship as a bromance. I'm kind of playing off of this idea here.


End file.
